Page 73 of PR Stunt

“Some would call it tragically misguided.”

He gives me that maddening half-smile.

I sigh, stepping aside. “Fine. But if you start doing the brooding stare thing, I’m walking.”

He follows me into the living room. “Again, your lies are so pretty from your lips.”

Letting the comment slide, I settle on the opposite end of the couch from where he sits. He hands me a copy of the script, the pages already creased.

I skim. It’s a night scene. Two characters sitting in the back of a truck bed under the moonlight. The guy confesses he’s in love with the girl. Not in a grand, sweeping way. Just honest, real, and soft.

I glance up. “You’re playing Auston?”

He nods.

“You’re gonna try to play a guy who opens up emotionally?” I snort.

“Hey.”

“No, I’m just saying—this isn’t your usual smirky, take-your-top-off-by-page-ten role.”

He shifts in his seat, suddenly serious. “Yeah. That’s kind of the point.”

That catches me off guard. Is he…uncomfortable? Even the idea of being vulnerable puts him on edge.

I exhale. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

We start, and I slip into the lines easily, the cadence of the character’s voice shaping itself in mine. Grayson is off book, his voice softer than usual, his posture relaxed but present. There’s a moment—a beat—where the lines blur, where I’m not sure if he’s acting or if this is just him. But then he stumbles.

I look up.

He curses under his breath. “Sorry.”

“You hesitated.”

“I know.”

“Why?”

He exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t usually say things like that. Not in real life. Not to anyone.”

I scoff, folding my arms. “It’s just acting.”

“Yeah.” His jaw tightens. “You know what? I shouldn’t have even asked. Never mind.” He moves like he’s about to stand and leave.

“No, wait, Grayson.”

His gaze lifts to mine, and the room goes still.

Something shifts in my chest. I force it down. “Try again,” I say, softer this time.

He frowns, like the request genuinely stumps him. “How?”

His voice isn’t defensive. It’s curious. Vulnerable in a way that doesn’t fit the armor he usually wears. Like no one’s ever asked him to mean it before.

I study him, watching the way his jaw tics, the slight pinch between his brows.

“Don’t think about how it sounds,” I say quietly. “Don’t try to land the moment or make it perfect. Just…say it like it’s the truth. Like you’re not afraid that I’ll flinch when I hear it.”